


Den Date

by neongoodies



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, You're Welcome, lost light spoilers, misuse of teleporters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neongoodies/pseuds/neongoodies
Summary: Drift and Rodimus get an adequate amount of much deserved alone time in The Den.





	

**Author's Note:**

> someone had to do it and I decided to be that someone

“Are you sure Brainstorm’s not going to be back?”

“Nah, he’s too busy jacking his ego at everyone over how he superglued this thing together.” Rodimus gives the inside wall of the den a pat, half out of endearment at how fragging _pitiful_ this thing manages to look and half because he expects it to come splitting apart at the seams with too much force.

It’s surprisingly resilient however, the only effect of his touch just earning a metallic _thump_.

Sitting in front of him, Drift’s eyeing the ceiling with all its messily welded seams like he’s just as wary as Rodimus. “I can’t believe you seduced me into a teleporter,” he murmurs. His hands are petting over Rodimus’ waist and hips, eliciting shivers and stirring up a charge that hums in his circuits. It leaves the tips of his fingers tingly as he traces the red accents on Drift’s chassis in an attempt to figure out new sweet spots on a frame he’s still not used to.

Rodimus grins at him in a way he knows is at least 96% charming – the other 4% just manages to tick Megatron and Magnus off when he tries it at them.

“Well, I can’t believe it worked.” He leans, purposefully teasing as he bumps their noses lightly together in an affectionate nuzzle. “But it’s weirdly cozy though, right? Toss down a rug and give this thing a new paintjob and –”

Drift interrupts him with a kiss.

Whatever Rodimus had been intending to say winds up slipping into a moan instead.

Hands cradle Rodimus’ jaw, coaxing him closer as a glossa flicks between his lips and into his mouth. His frame might be completely alien to Rodimus’ exploring hands, but his kisses – sweet and languid – leave him nostalgic with bliss.

Warmth radiates through him, blossoming out from his spark and down his backstrut to linger at the lower base of it. He squirms where he’s sitting, and feels Drift’s grin on his lips.  Rodimus doesn’t have to see him to know he’s looking smug.

Drift moves back first, Rodimus groaning a complaint as he tries to dazedly follow. “We’ll have to be quiet, you know.” Drift lowers a hand to caress over the side of Rodimus’ thigh. He dips his head in to kiss at his neck.

It’s hard to remember that when teeth are nipping at the cabling of his intake between the intermittent, wet kisses Drift places. “ _Nnn_ -no problem,” he stutters, vocalizer blurting with static right as Drift actually does bite down. There’s just enough force behind it to make Rodimus painfully aware of his array.

“You say that,” Drift murmurs, “But you squeak when you overload.”

Rodimus utters a noise halfway between a gasp and a startled laugh at the accusation. “Do _not_.” And when Drift just cocks a brow at him, optics flitting between his own and the thumb he has tracing his lips, he finds himself flushing and glancing away.

Okay, maybe he does. _Maybe_.

“New rule – no teasing me now or in our future berth,” he retorts. Rodimus tries and wracks his brain for any memory of Drift doing something embarrassing during overload. But he’s always been quiet in the berth so, really, this entire ‘den date’ of theirs is really not going to be any sort of problem for him.

He bites his lip and looks back at him, indignant. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll cover my mouth.”

With that, he grabs Drift by the shoulders, levers his weight to a knee and slings the other leg over his lap, straddling him. Drift cups the back of his thighs and smiles up at him, all warm and affectionate and so very capable of sending Rodimus’ spark flaring in its chamber.

It’s so stupidly contagious that Rodimus smiles right back as he impulsively brushes the backs of his fingers across Drift’s cheek, thumbing along the red pattern beneath his optic.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

A pause, and then laughter rumbles between them, mindfully quiet, but still easing whatever tension still seems hellbent on leaving Rodimus feeling as uneasy as he had through the entire day. They’re good now, he reminds himself for what feels like the fourth – fifth? – time. Apologies were made and accepted. Kisses shared. Confessions made.

They were good.

He thinks Drift must catch wind of whatever he’s thinking because his optics soften as he peers at him, a soft glow in the dark of the chamber. A hand with the slightest tremble to it touches his jaw, tweaks his chin before drawing him in. Rodimus is so utterly helpless to his touch that he moves on an impulse, purring into the kiss Drift drags him into.

The kiss was clumsy, as theirs often seemed to be when two opposites met to become something cohesive. Distance and time still hadn't changed that. While Drift was savoring and patience, Rodimus had always been desperation and passion. And whether it was Rodimus dragging Drift into a tumble of desperate groans between nips of teeth or tugs of the lip, or Drift easing him into taking it slow with languid caresses, it had always just worked.

There’s a newfound desperation between them both now. It’s all glossa and lip, gasps and needy touches as they press closer to each other. Rodimus’ chest presses up to Drift’s, feeling the heat at the center and the pulse of Drift’s spark. It centers him, the feel of it weighty on his frame, leaves him all too aware of the slide of their glossa, the messy slide of lubricant on their lips.

Rodimus wonders if they’d have time to kindle their sparks, but the thought is fleeting, mind pulled into a whole new direction when he feels Drift ease a hand between them, palm cupping his panel, heel scrubbing pressure into the metal.

Rodimus just barely manages to catch the moan that slips out. His panel slides back at the tap of Drift’s knuckle and he jumps at the first touch of a finger on sensitive meshing that only he has ever really bothered with since Drift left.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily Drift’s fingers slide along the length of his valve. He takes it slow, stroking over the lining, brushing along his node, before sliding a finger into him. Rodimus can’t help it; he groans softly, chewing at his lip as Drift drags it back out to circle his node.

He pants and glances up at Drift’s face, half expecting to see him concentrating at the task – literally – at hand, but startles when he finds those off-blue optics of his watching him.

“What?” Rodimus whispers, trying not to squirm as Drift’s touch borders on frustrating with how light it is. 

“Nothing.” Drift’s brow furrows and then, he adds softly, “You mentioned sharing a berth earlier.”

Rodimus gives him a look because, _really_? Now is like, the strangest time for them to start talking about plans involving their recharge arrangements. Then again, Drift’s also not the one getting his valve felt up in a still relatively public den/teleporter.

But now he’s thinking about it, too. He’s not opposed to the idea. In fact, Rodimus’ immediate assumption was that they were probably going to share a suite on the new ship. And when they got the Lost Light back, Drift would just sort of…be there without a question from either of them.

“Well,” he begins, and wriggles his hips to get Drift to _do_ something down there. Drift complies, though just barely, and adds some pressure behind his touch. Rodimus’ optics flicker. “I just sorta assumed that we…I mean…Erm-”

Who would’ve thought that expressing himself while interfacing could be so hard?

No pun intended.

Drift chuckles. “Megatron got my suite, didn’t he?”

Rodimus pulls a face. Yeah, _not_ a name he wants to hear with someone feeling him up, good terms or not.

He looks down at Drift, catching his optics. Holding his gaze is a lot harder than he anticipates. “Yeah, but I – Well, I want you with me anyways.”

A pause, like Drift is actually _surprised_. “Oh?”

“Why not? Might as well have my own roommate, right?” he adds with a wink, getting another little laugh out of Drift.

“Roommate, huh? Is that what we’re calling ourselves now?”

At last, Drift finally seems to take the hint, bracing a hand on Rodimus’ lower back to keep him still as he presses his fingers past his rim and into his valve.

It’s a mix of the conversation and the pleasure lighting up his sensors that makes him bite his lip and has his spark doing a little flutter. His intake seizes up at the acknowledgement that yeah, he’s not the only one thinking this then.

Drift works his fingers, crooks them just so to stroke a spot in his valve that Rodimus can never quite find on his own. Maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s just _Drift_ , but it has Rodimus’ vocalizer warbling with the promise of a groan as he rocks his hips subtly into each little thrust.

It’s still not quite enough. Good, yeah, but it probably won’t send him over that edge anytime soon and, like it or not, they _are_ sort of pressed for time.

Rodimus brings a hand off Drift’s shoulder – the other squeezing a little tighter – and brings it down to join Drift’s between his legs. He swallows, licks his lips, vents catching in a shaky gasp as he rolls a finger over his node.

At Drift’s pleased sounding hum, he grins and peeks up. Drift’s watching him work and looks pretty damn pleased with what he sees. Rodimus would be lying if he said that didn’t drive his charge up another level.

It doesn’t take long. In fact, it’s actually embarrassing how quickly a few passes over his node and well placed thrusts of Drift’s fingers leaves his frame taut in the wake of an overload. Rodimus arches. His head tips back and he just barely manages to tear his hand off Drift’s shoulder to cover his mouth as a high pitched whine squeezes out from the tight clench of his intake. He just barely hears a startled noise from Drift, who immediately curls his arm around his waist, dragging up a leg to keep him from tipping backwards.

He pulls his hand away, twitching when Drift’s thumb takes over, rubbing his node until he’s panting and squirming, optics fritzing as a strange mix of heat and cold passes through him. Rodimus pushes higher up onto his knees with a whimper. “Sensitive,” he pants, and lets Drift drag him back down, thankfully with the mercy of avoiding his node.

There’s static in his vision as the majority of it is covered with the view of a dark wall as he tips his head forward to thunk his brow to Drift’s shoulder.

“That was a good one,” Drift says, ventilations tickling plating Rodimus is suddenly hyperaware of. He’s too hot. His internal temperatures are always at the mid-point but it just hitches enough that he’s left feeling just slightly overwhelmed. Charge is still dancing in his lines, leaving his plating sensitive and itchy, but he doesn’t want Drift to stop touching him either.

Slowly, his spark seems to ease back from the frenetic pulse it’d been working to a more familiar tempo. Rodimus steadies his ventilations, cycles his optics a few times. “Heh, yeah…More like a quick one,” he replies after a moment to collect himself. He’s only a little embarrassed, but not about that; he’s pretty sure Drift was right in claiming he squeaks in overload.

Ugh.

Drift gives him a sweet smile at him. “I probably won’t fare much better either, actually.”

That has Rodimus’ eyes lowering between them. He licks his lips, thoughtful. “Spike me?” he suggests. Drift’s optics surge a little brighter, that green tinge fading to something a little warmer as he considers the offer. Rodimus squirms in the silence that consists mostly of whirring fans and the muddled, half-muted voices in the further reaches of the fortress.

For some reason he half expects Drift to say no and for that to be that. He doesn’t know why, but it wreaks havoc on his internals. But then Drift’s smirking at him, quelling those thoughts in a look alone, and grabs him by the backs of his thighs. Rodimus just barely manages to ask what he’s about to do before his legs are suddenly dragged out from beneath him, his back crashing down on the ground.

He grunts, laughing weakly despite the brief thud of pain in his spoiler. “No fair,” he wheezes  as Drift crawls over him, nudging open his thighs with his knees. “No sparring moves in the berth.”

“Well, thankfully we’re in a teleporter,” Drift replies, lips quirking wryly as he grabs Rodimus by the hips to drag him closer. It notches their arrays together, his valve pressed firm to the heated panel covering Drift’s spike. Rodimus tips his head back and lifts his hips at the contact. It has him looking at where the light of the room streams in, reminding him that they really can’t afford too much in flirtatious posing and more foreplay.

Drift immediately nabs his attention with a soft kiss under his chin. He’s pretty sure his smile must border on dreamy as his hands come up to rest along Drift’s head, feeling over the pointed spars of it in some half-sparked effort to figure out if they’re as sensitive as they were before the frame change.

Given how fingers tighten on his hips and Drift hisses through clenched teeth at his throat, the answer is a ‘yes’. Rodimus grins, tweaking the end of one before Drift suddenly lifts his head, startling him into dropping his hand.

“What?” He glances back at where Drift’s gaze wanders towards the exit of the den. “Someone out there?”

Drift squints. “Maybe.” He smiles down at him, looking a mix between abashed and apologetic. “Looks like we need to cut this erm, den date, short for the time being."

Rodimus bites back a disappointed sigh. He lifts a brow at Drift and reluctantly drops his hands back down to rest over his abdomen. “Then...Guess I owe you one?” At Drift's snort, he insists, "Seriously, I'll frag you so hard your vocalizer shorts out if you want." His palm presses to Drift's chest, over the red emblem at the center. "And maybe...If you want..." It's such an intimate suggestion. It makes his face go hot again. He doesn't need to elaborate, his touch being enough if that look of utter adoration and affection Drift gives him is anything to go by.

Drift grabs him by the chin and captures his lips in a startling, searing kiss. Rodimus sighs happily into it despite the abruptness, feels the playful tug of Drift’s teeth on his lip and glossa flicking over his, both mirroring one another’s smiles. It leaves him swooning and feeling dizzy with a mix of excitement and affection.

When Drift pulls his lips from his, it’s to give him that sly smile of his, optics twinkling and bright with a promise. “I’ll hold you to it, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then Drift fainted


End file.
